We Work Well Together Don't We
by avrovulcan
Summary: Even eating a simple Chinese Takeaway demands some co-operation on this occasion. Originally written for the Picfic Challenge on LJ.


Illya and Napoleon staggered through the door into Solo's apartment. Both were worse for wear after returning from their last assignment.

Illya's right arm was in a sling, as was Napoleon's left one. The Russian limped across the room, as his left leg was encased in plaster, and fell into the sofa, promptly propping the offending limb up on the coffee table in an effort to find some relief from the pain.

The American hobbled to his favorite armchair, sighing as he gingerly lowered himself into the soft cushions.

Between them they had a dislocated shoulder, broken leg, sprained ankle, bullet wound to the shoulder, mild concussion, various cuts and bruises and a broken rib or two. After driving the medical staff crazy, they were released on the understanding they looked after each other, and knowing how Kuryakin hated taking his medication, Solo also had explicit instructions to ensure the Russian took the prescribed tablets to try and prevent any infection to the wound in his shoulder.

"Well, I don't think I'm quite up to cooking tonight, tovarisch; what do you say to a takeaway?"

"Chinese?"

"Absolutely, you make the call, I'll get the crockery."

Both agents struggled to stand, but eventually Illya made it to the phone and Napoleon to the kitchen.

"Err, Napoleon, I could do with some help please."

"Hang on, I'll be right there," Solo called out, followed by the sound of crashing china, "Damn, that was one of my favorites."

"Do you need some help?"

"Nah, I've got it… ouch!"

The American eventually came back into the living room carrying two plates, as soon as he put them on the table, he stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth, then hobbled to Illya.

"What's the problem?"

"I cannot hold the handset and dial the number at the same time. Can you dial and I will talk?"

"Sure."

The call was eventually placed and they retreated to the sofa waiting for the arrival of their meal.

"I think we out did ourselves this time." Illya sighed as he tried to find a more comfortable position.

"I can't remember the last time I ached this much, and I wish you'd stop tormenting your captors, they might not have shot you then."

"I cannot help it, it is my way of showing defiance."

"So that's what you call it, I'd say it was 'winding up the enemy'."

"At least all my injuries were from the mission," Illya grinned, "I bet you never told the nurses how you really dislocated your shoulder or sprained your ankle."

Napoleon shot his partner a look, "now why would I do that? And don't you dare let on, I'll be a laughing stock."

The Russian just grinned.

Solo thought back to how he'd received those particular injuries. Illya had been receiving a lot of attention from the stewardesses; even though he'd done his best to put them off, they seemed to take it as a challenge. It was when they were departing the aircraft that the accident happened.

An over eager stewardess made a sudden move towards his partner and instinctively Napoleon spun to intercept the possible threat when he overbalanced at the top of the stairs, he would have tumbled down them if it hadn't been for Illya's quick reactions. Instead he'd crashed into the handrail, breaking a rib, dislocating his shoulder and spraining an ankle.

"If it wasn't for your quick actions, tovarisch, it could have been much worse; as it was, it was a rookie mistake."

"We all have them from time to time, my friend."

Just then there was a knock at the door. Between them they managed to pay the deliveryman, collect the boxes and portion out the food. Aromas of House Special Rice, Char Sui Pork, Peking Chicken and Fried Dumplings filled the room.

"I've forgot the drinks," Napoleon exclaimed, '_the concussion must have really affected me_', he thought, "Vodka for you I presume?"

"Da, spacibo."

Soon Solo returned with two glasses tucked into his sling and the necks of two bottles clutched in his good hand.

"Um, I'm Going to need some help here, tovarisch, I can't hold the bottle and take the lid off."

Kuryakin placed his chopsticks down and took hold of one of the bottles as firmly as he could with one hand while Solo freed the top, repeating the process with the other one.

"It's a good job we work so well together."

Illya grinned, "It is, is it not?"

"Now, time to take your tablets, I suppose you shouldn't be drinking really; but what the hell, we're not going anywhere tomorrow."

"If I really must," the Russian groaned.

"And no palming them, I know you too well."

"What was it you said about working together?"

Laughing, they ate and drank into the evening, both enjoying each other's company and knowing they would always be there for each other no how big or small the job.


End file.
